She isn’t particularly pretty. When you speak of her no one really ever gets too excited. In fact, im not sure people are completely listening. One might describe her as plain, or just, not memorable. It’s like when someone you are really fond of calls you cute, it stings a bit because you dont want cute, you want to be their sexy.
Don’t get me wrong, she isn’t rejected ever, she’s always welcomed. She’s always someones favorite, someone you couldn’t pick out of the room, someone with that sort of taste. At the end of the night you just don’t really recall your conversation with her, she was there though, right…


There she is. Young. There’s some age on her sure but nothing defining. She is the distant unrelated cousin at the Christmas party. You always saw her. She wore those ‘sweaters.’ Her presence was kind of annoying, yet, the familiarness of her was somewhat comforting.

She disappeared for a while. Or maybe that was you.

And then there she was…only this time it wasn’t at Christmas, it was in the middle of spring. Full, glorious, blooming, spring. The sweater was gone, very gone. Replaced with something very revealing, there was nothing cute about her. She had age*, their was an air of sophistication*. You planned on remembering more than this conversation. A smile played across your lips as you gazed at her, there was more than spring radiating in you.

We’ll call it appetite.



*air = 425 for 90 min
*sophistication = bourbon, brown sugar, apple cider vinegar glaze

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